


Shout (Shout, Let It All Out)

by Slave2Writing



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Neverland, Oral Sex, season one, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slave2Writing/pseuds/Slave2Writing
Summary: Regina’s loud during sex, and Emma doesn’t quite trust it.





	1. Chapter One

The first time, Emma’s rather insulted. She knows the mayor doesn’t exactly have the highest opinion of her, but she ought to know the blonde isn’t _this_ dumb. Brow creased, and tongue cramped, she pulls out and scuffles with the blankets she’d burrowed under.

 

“Wh- why’re you stopping?!” The mayor sounds the most distressed Emma’s ever heard her, voice reaching the same high pitched note when her son got himself trapped in the mines. Her chest is rising and falling at an alarming pace, and locks of her short hair are matted down with sweat. Unruly curls have mussed up the impeccable  cut, one dipping across her eyes, mocha chocolate sheen glowing amber in the daylight.

 

Emma huffs, forced to admit the woman puts on a good show. “Do you _have_ to do that?”

 

“Do _what_?”

 

“All - all _that_.” She motions with her hands, and then goes ahead and mimics the mayor’s exaggerating moaning. “Oh - oh! Em-mah! You’re incredible, the best - oh, uh uh uh I’ve ever had!”

 

Regina stares up at her, eyes wide.

 

“I’m not some amateur, I know the difference between porn and reality, if this is some stupid attempt at manipulating my ego, or - ”

 

A sudden impact of the mayor’s foot against her ribs has Emma practically somersaulting backwards over the edge of the queen sized bed. “Get. Out.” The words are delivered through clenched teeth. “Get out,” They’re repeated again after only a couple seconds of Emma groaning on the floor, and then, “Get out! Get out! You complete asshole, Emma Swan! Get the fuck out of my house!”

 

The bedside table is a diverse community. A glass of water resting on a coaster, lipstick staining the rim; an alarm clock reading 11:56 AM; a blackberry at 75% battery; a black hair tie belonging to the deputy sheriff.  Each of these items Emma manages to successfully dodge as she hurriedly tugs on her tight jeans, hopping around on one foot while her boss screams obscenities at her. Even with her hardened life, some of the Spanish vulgarity manages to make her blush.

 

“Oh! Regina! Jesus!” Emma drops back onto the floor and covers her head when the mayor rips out the roots of her laptop charger to free the entire device and launch it through the air.

 

Fury has consumed the older woman in shades of red and purple. Emma imagines for a wild moment sparks spitting out of the mayor’s fingertips. The floor trembles from enduring the brunt of the abuse and again Regina shouts at her to leave, angry tears welling up and the bedsheet now wrapped tight around her body.

 

“I - ”

 

“Go!”

 

“I’m sorry!”

 

“ _Get out_.”

 

She scrams.

 

Two years later, they’ve never mentioned it. Their sleeping quarters on the _Jolly Roger_ are incredibly cramped. A dozen swaying hammocks create a labyrinth of fabric Emma struggles to navigate by rays of moonlight streaming through cracks in the wood. The low hanging ones are out of the question, an open invitation for the rats on this ship. Some of the hammocks sport incriminating stains, some of them have been torn asunder, surely unable to sustain much added weight. Emma learns this the hard way, her tailbone freshly bruised and incessantly throbbing.

 

“Gah!” Emma jumps several feet in the air as a shadow squeaks while running over her feet. Immediately, her parents, Gold and Hook shush her hysterics, each of them occupying a corner of the ship’s dormitory.

 

Scowling in the vague direction of their voices, Emma resumes her nocturnal prowl. They’ve decided against sleeping in the individual cabins for the next couple of nights in case of unwanted boarders trying to pick them off one by one. Ducking beneath the wooden planks, she sees the hazy outline of her son’s mother in the darkness.

 

“Hey,” Emma approaches the gently swaying hammock, the Evil Queen’s curled up body just below eye level. “Regina!”

 

Another chorus of _shhhhh_ rebounding off the walls.

 

“ _What?_ ” The woman rolls over, voice congested with sleep.

 

“You’re in my hammock.”

 

“ _What? Miss Swan, what on earth are you talking about?_ ”

 

Are they even on Earth anymore? Emma takes a moment to ponder that, then shakes the distracting thought away. “This is my hammock,” She curls her fingers over the flimsy edge. “I was gone for like a minute, and you took it.”

 

“I did not,” The Evil Queen huffs, turning back around again. “Find another hammock, you child.”

 

“Regina, I know this one was mine!”

 

“There are plenty others!”

 

“Most of them are disgusting, you find a decent one!”

 

“You know what, Swan,” The captain’s voice is like a salt soaked breeze. Emma can almost taste him on her tongue. “I’d be more than happy to accommodate you here.”

 

Mouth partially buried by his wife’s hair, Emma hears her father mumble at the pirate to shut up. She turns back to see a flicker of _something_ in the moonlight, the Evil Queen’s features provoked by the captain’s offer. Their eyes meet in darkness, and the brunette immediately scowls up at her.

 

“Give me back my hammock,” Emma lowers her voice, the ship rocking beneath her feet.

 

“It is _not_ your hammock.”

 

“I’m warning you...” The queen doesn’t budge, and Emma scowls right back at her, swiftly launching herself up, the hammock _creaking_ noisily, swinging with wild abandon.

 

Muttering obscenities under his breath, the Dark One casts a silencing charm, and their scuffle is swiftly saturated with the sound of waves crashing against the hull, the _creak_ of wet wood and _flap_ of torn fabric.

 

“You... contemptible... deplorable... _worthless_ \- ”

 

“It _is_ my hammock!”

 

“ - brute!”

 

Emma grunts at the knee shoved into her belly, her own slipping between the queen’s thighs, both of them wearing stripped down versions of their day clothing. “That’s a compliment coming from you.” The queen’s breath is hot against her cheek. “We’re only in this mess thanks to you, your majesty.”

 

“Had you not messed with the curse, my son would be safe at home this very moment!”

 

“If we _were_ back home, you know damn well he’d be running away from you to hang out with m-argh!”

 

The fabric tears and the two of them dropped onto the wooden floor, the queen’s painted nails scratching at the savior’s face. “Bitch!”

 

“Cunt!”

 

“Asshole!”

 

“Shut up!”

 

“You shut up!”

 

Emma draws back her arm, fingers curling into a fist. Magic crackles in the air, electricity skirting the surface of their skin, like a match dragged down the length of both their spines. Chest heaving, face burning, Emma scowls down at her rival, features drenched in shadow, in moonlight. “I hate you.”

 

There’s a prominent vein pulsating in the middle of the queen’s forehead. “And I despise you.”

 

“Good, glad that’s settled.” Emma shoves off the floor, kneecaps bruised. “And now, thanks to you, yet another damn hammock is ruined. Where the hell am I gonna sleep? All the rest are - “

 

A sonic _boom_ drowns out everything else. Then comes the splintered wood, and the holler of adolescent boys boarding the ship from above. “Gold!” Emma reaches down and hauls the queen up to her feet, glimpsing the wild gleam in dark eyes. “Hook! Guys!”

 

The Dark One’s silencing spell holds, their companions locked in uneasy slumber. Regina pushes past the blonde and makes for the stairs, an orange flame growing in her hand. “Are you coming?”

 

Emma spares one last look at the dark outlines swaying undisturbed below deck. “Right behind you.”

 

When the sun rises, when the spell dies upon the Dark One’s waking, when the rest of their bleary eyed crew emerge from the belly of the ship, it’s to see two mothers sweating above deck, their clothing singed and the queen leaning heavily against the ship’s rim while Emma finishes up tying their new prisoner’s hands behind his back.

 

“Ah, Slightly,” The pirate captain greets with a razor sharp smile. “My old friend.”

 

Leaving the teenaged boy to be interrogated by the rest, Emma makes her way on unsteady legs towards Regina, catching her around the waist.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

“Helping you downstairs.”

 

“You can barely walk yourself, Miss Swan.”

 

“Then you can help me.”

 

Regina hesitates, her dirty fingers tentatively curled around the back of the savior’s neck. “Your parents are looking.”

 

“There’s nothing to see. We’re just getting cleaned up. Anyway, what do you care?”

 

“I don’t.” Regina draws a breath. “Alright, lead on, Miss Swan.”

 

The heat vision emanating from her parents’ eye sockets are like lasers burning tiny holes in the back of the blonde’s head. Sweet relief comes in the form of shadows and a locked door, the two of them stepping inside what had been the quartermaster’s lodgings.

 

The queen’s magic is a little shaky, and Emma’s still an amateur, but summoning water is not so difficult when there’s an ocean cradling their ship. Regina extracts the salt, and they take turns dipping in strips of cloth and gently mopping the other’s cuts. Hissing at the sting, Emma’s chin is lifted up, cradled by the queen’s chilled fingers, dark eyes running over scratches that had given way beneath her own nails only seconds before the attack. “Sorry,” The queen says, the word stiff and abrupt, but so unexpected and uncharacteristic that Emma is nearly floored.

 

“Don’t worry about it.” She remains still, unsure how aware the queen is as her fingers have begun to caress the savior’s jawline. “I was the one who - ”

 

“Acted like a deranged idiot?”

 

“Can you please just admit that it _was_ my hammock?” Their argument slips into something slow and lazy, the gentle stroke unceasing. A captured Lost Boy means they’re that much closer to recovering their son. The tensions which had rose like steam on their dead-end vessel seems to have dissipated, the knots in Emma’s chest and Emma’s mind are beginning to loosen and untangle. That manic energy converts into something dangerously familiar.

 

Their thighs touch, cuts and singed clothing still not fully dealt with. The sun continues to rise, light flooding each window of the cabin. Their shadows swim closer together, and warm breath crusts the swell of the savior’s pink mouth. “You’re free to claim it now, my dear.” The queen’s fingers appear darker in contrast to the fine strands they push back behind the curve of the savior’s ear.

 

“I’m good right here,” Emma murmurs, and reaches up to tug her rival into a kiss.

 

As if she’d been waiting for this every day for the past two years, Regina instantly succumbs to the pressure against her mouth, sighing as she sinks deeper and deeper into the embrace.

 

The wet _smack_ of their lips is broken only by helping the other take off her shirt. Emma identifies and swiftly latches onto the pulse point throbbing near the top slope of her sworn enemy’s neck. Sucking the flesh into the heat of her mouth, she sinks her teeth in and threatens to break skin. Immediately, Regina responds vocally and physically, her nipples stiffening beneath the calloused hand palming her breast. In the savior’s hand, it feels like dough, squishing and twisting beneath her kneading grip, rolled beneath her greedy pressure.

 

Oxygen depletes, leaving both of them lightheaded. The ship rocks beneath them, weighed down by the anchor, the winds picking up, an oversized bassinet cradled by the burgeoning waves.

 

Gently pushing the older woman down, Emma crawls on top, sinking her thumbs into twin pressure points in the queen’s wrists, forcing them above the brunette’s head. “Keep still,” She orders, and watches the way Regina’s irises expand into glossy black orbs. She can see the milkyway in her lover’s eyes, she can see the rose flush spreading from her lover’s chest to the swell of her neck.

 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” The queen pontificates, the words heavy on her tongue, like she’s drunk, and already her lashes are fluttering close.

 

Emma disagrees with a hard kiss, sucking her lover’s bottom lip into the wet heat and refusing to yield until there’s a soft cry at the back of Regina’s throat, the queen’s sensitive flesh sucked relentlessly, sucked raw, a bruise forming. These cries echo and build and mount the air. The salt air drenching their overheated skin, Regina’s body glowing bronze in the brightening sunlight soaking their cabin. Through her dark lashes, the savior’s hair looks as if it’s been braided by a halo. Her eyes clench close and she sees nothing but vibrating spots of orange as the savior’s mouth lays a savage claim on her belly, just above where she _really_ needs her.

 

A belt of hickeys spread across her hipline. The queen bucks her hips and starts to whimper, the savior’s torturous mouth branding her with wet heat. By the time Emma finally lays claim to the soaked treasure nestled between trembling thighs, Regina’s already halfway there, reaching down to tangle her fingers in blonde curls, twisting them around her whitening knuckles, pulling sharply at the roots until the savior’s teasing mouth finally gives in and grants mercy, grants relief, beckons forth the rising tide of soft, rolling cries and soaring agony.

 

This time around, her mouth drenched with smeared arousal, her ears ringing with the sound of her own name, her skull throbbing from the pressure of long legs wrapped around her head for two straight minutes, Emma’s willing to concede the mayor may not have been playing her for any sick reason those two years ago. She’s just a naturally loud lover, who gets a little carried away with her compliments. Emma knows from experience, she’s not all that great in bed, having been critiqued by every lover she’d had whilst in the midst of things.

 

She tamps down on whatever sparks of pride she’d felt at listening to Regina to fall apart beneath her mouth. When they’re dying embers cooling inside the pit of her belly, she crawls up the length of her lover’s body and quirks her lips into a smile when the woman practically _coos_ at the sensation of their nude bodies sinking into one another. “Too much for you, old lady?”

 

Dark eyes _snap_ open, and Emma lets out a shriek of laughter as the queen flips her over with a savage snarl, determined to prove her wrong.


	2. Chapter Two

The walk through the jungle is awkward, to say the least. Hook can't quite contain the prominent bulge in his pants (in another life, Emma would have been more than a little intrigued, mildly impressed) and the savior's parents oscillate between murderous and humiliated expressions, depending on whether or not their red rimmed gazes land on their daughter or the woman who had been screaming her name for the better part of the morning, well into the afternoon.

"Mom," Emma tries, at one point, to approach the scruffy haired brunette, but between clenched teeth the archer immediately bites out -

"For goodness sake, there was a  _child_  on board." And stomps away, as if they hadn't left said innocent child wrapped up in chains.

The queen, for her part, looks as if she's walking on air. Whenever she senses one of her enemies watching, she winks and makes to grab the savior's hand, or molds her body against the strong bicep, warm breath teasing the fine hairs rising to attention on the nape of the blonde's neck.

" _Quit it_ ," Emma tries shaking her off, only to be pulled in by a sudden, eager press of the queen's lips.

Swiftly clamping a broad hand on his wife's mouth, muffling the horrified shriek, David growls that they're going on ahead while Hook assumes a pained expression and races forward through the path, a gurgled explanation bursting out his throat.

"Oh, you are  _evil_ ," Emma mutters, seconds before shoving the delighted queen backwards and pinning her against the hard bark of a tree, the heat of the island swarming their position, drowning them in heady music of chattering birds and crickets calling out for their mate.

It's a needy distraction from the constant worry about the very real danger their son is in. But when they catch up to the rest of their party and set up camp, Emma has to take a firm tone and push Regina away.

"Why?"

"We're trying to get the drop on them. Within seconds, they'll be able to hear you a mile away and sneak up on us."

Regina's face colors. "Excuse me? What are you saying?"

"You're loud."

"I am not."

" _Really_  loud." Emma pauses, taking note of her face. "Hey, I don't mind… it's just, for now - "

The hard  _slap_  of the queen's palm making contact with her face really should have been expected. Emma slaps her right back, the two of them furious, tensions mounting again, just like the heat. The savior can picture herself clearly wrapping her fingers around the queen's throat and throttling her.

Her parents and the captain watch them wide-eyed, each of them wondering if the two witches have completely forgotten they're not alone and have a captive audience.

"Go to hell," Regina finally hisses, and straightens up off the jungle floor, whirling around and stalking out of their camp.

Each hour that passes in the queen's absence is another degree lowered in the savior's internal thermometer. Her body cools beneath the dark sky, splayed out across the mat. The fire croaks out one last flame before dying out, smoke drifting across her snuggled up parents and a gently snoring pirate. Feeling like she's lost a battle, Emma sits up and tugs back on her boots, cursing her softened resolve as she heads out into the dark jungle.

It's weird, but it almost feels as if the island is leading her towards the other woman. There's this  _energy_ , a subtle hum that reminds her of the way air molecules feel right before she or Regina is about to throw a punch, about to blast each other with magic, about to crash their mouths together in a messy, desperate, incredibly stupid, nonsensical kiss. Like electrons vibrating, rebounding off one another faster and faster.

Paths widen and shrink at various intervals, beckoning and deterring Emma until she's stumbling into a tiny creek trickling below a hill, and at the top of that hill is a crumpled up figure muffling her sobs, head submerged by shaking arms.

Using the roots of trees, Emma grunts low in her throat as she scales the hill, twigs  _snapping_  beneath muddied combat boots. When she gets to the top, the queen is staring at her, fingers clenched tight.

They're quiet. Staring at each other.

"I'm sorry," Emma breaks first, climbing the last little bit of slope to land heavily in front of the brunette. "I didn't say all that to embarrass you."

"I am  _hardly_  embarrassed, Miss Swan."

"Okay, well, whatever." Emma shakes her head. "Come back to camp with me."

She stands, and Regina follows suit after a moment. It's easier going down if they have each other to hold onto. The queen's palm is clammy, but Emma clenches it tight, and resists breaking apart when she feels Regina try to wrench out of her grip the moment they land on the bank of the creek.

" _Let go_."

"I'm sorry for what I said."

"Fine."

"You're still mad at me."

"Observant as always, you've certainly earned your position, sheriff."

"Look, I just don't want another two years to go by without us - "

" - then maybe  _stop_  saying stupid - "

"I'm sorry, Regina, I'm really sorry." Emma tries kissing her and the queen jerks her head away, scowling with red hot cheeks.

"You have such a problem with how I - how I conduct myself in bed, then you can just find somebody else to screw around with." The savior's grip loosens and Regina successfully wrenches her fingers free, trudging back along the path which had led Emma to the hidden creek.

Behind her, the savior lets out a low sigh. "I don't know how to explain…"

"That's just as well," Regina smacks giant leaves out of her way. "Because I'm entirely uninterested in an explanation."

Her statement holds true for the next hour, when it feels as if they've been trekking for much longer than it should have taken to come across the camp. Calf muscle cramping up, Regina lets out a tiny gasp and hurriedly plops down on the nearest boulder. "Goddammit," She struggles with prying off her riding boot, promptly  _smacking_  away the savior's hand when the younger woman drops down in front of her, kneeling in the dirt.

"Let me help."

"I don't need your help."

"Just - Jesus - I know it doesn't mean you forgive me." Emma swipes her tongue against her lips, swallowing not nearly enough moisture, mouth going dry. "Let me help."

When next she reaches for the queen's boot, her efforts are not rebuffed. Chancing a glance, sea-green eyes are landlocked by an oppressively heated glower. Biting her tongue, Emma drops her gaze and focusses on gently freeing the queen's tiny foot, peeling off the damp sock and immediately cradling the sole between her warm hands. She glances up again, and allows a soft smirk when the instant she gives a hard squeeze the queen gasps and lets her head roll back just a little, muscles melting beneath the pressure of the savior's fingers.

Some callouses have started to form. The savior's fingers gentle their ministrations, tiny circles that emit an instinctual glow, natural healing magic seeping out and smoothing away the sores. The queen is practically purring, a pale blue light spreading up her calf and undoing tiny knots while Emma's fingers linger a little lower, thumb digger deeper into the abused flesh. The toes bow to the pressure of the savior's other hand and give an audible  _crack_  that drags a satisfied moan from the back of Regina's throat. Emma watches as it visibly dawns on Regina the sounds she's making, and is prepared to hold on when the queen straightens up a little and tries to drag her foot away.

"I love the way you sound," The savior's hands climb Regina's ankle, scale the slope of her calf. "I'm sorry, I was an ass. I'm sorry."

" _Stop_ ," Regina whispers, the heat flaring up inside her body, her blood simmering. Every nerve inside her calf vibrates with need, beckoning the delicious agony brought on by the savior's deep touch, and she sinks her teeth into her already bruised bottom lip, seeking to stifle any unattractive moaning.

Emma shakes her head again, darkened eyes latched onto her rival's swollen lip. " _I love the way you sound_ ," She grabs hold of the petite waist, dragging Regina to the very edge of the stone throne she's precariously balanced on. " _I love the way you sound._ "

The kiss is like silent thunder. The queen remains stubborn, even as she allows the savior's invasion into her mouth, heart pounding when Emma captures her tongue and sucks lewdly on the tip, instantly forcing her thighs to clench, her tummy flipping. Retaliating with the scratch of her nails along the curve of her lover's scalp, Regina wraps her arms around the savior's broad shoulders and holds on for dear life as Emma reaches down between them and sinks in two fingers, her body compensating for her strangled silence with a humiliating  _squelch_  that echoes off the silent trees. Her arousal paints a messy mural on the rock she's slumped backwards on, vision spilling over with messy blonde curls and eyes as unpredictable as the storm.

Clenching her eyes shut, hips rocking to the tune the savior sets, Regina bites down on her lover's shoulder and muffles her screams that way, shuddering around two extraordinary knuckles.

"I hate you, Emma Swan." She pants sometime later.

The savior just releases a breathless laugh. "Right back at you."

Nothing is truly resolved when they get back to the camp. The jungle is somehow easier to navigate again, and they come across the cold fire and dozing compatriots only a few minutes after getting dressed again.

Emma's relieved when Regina joins her on the mattress, the two of them curling up beneath the thin blanket the queen conjures to lay over them. They kick off their boots without sitting up, pooling just beneath their bare feet. Before the savior can fully doze off beneath the stars, Regina sucks gently on her earlobe and nibbles the flesh to draw her attention.

" _Why were you being such a bitch?_ " The question is laid out so softly, Emma can't even be offended.

Stroking the outline of her lover's ribs, Emma kisses the tip of her nose, then her chin, then brushes against soft lips. "No one's ever responded to me the way you do. I didn't know what to make of it." Dark eyes wait out the pause, silently encouraging her to go on. "I thought you might have been mocking me, somehow, I don't know… the first time, I mean."

Regina scoffed. "I was…" She pauses, blushing, face always burning these days. "I was  _dripping_  for you. How could you think that?"

"C'mon, that first day, you dragged me to your bedroom already soaked. That had nothing to do with me. You'd already started - "

Regina squirms uncomfortable, voice dipping even lower. "No, I… I'd been thinking about you." Her eyes rise defiantly. "In a  _I really fucking hate this woman and want to shut her up_  kind of way."

"Oh." Emma blinks. "Noted."

"Is it a turnoff for you?"

"No." The corners of her lips quirk up. "Not at all."

"Then… can we never talk about this again?"

"Alright," Emma snakes her arm around the queen's hips and pulls her incredibly close. "No more talking."

" _That_ ," Prince Charming's pained voice floats towards their corner of the campsite. "Would be fantastic."


	3. Chapter 3

The island is never quiet. At first it’s the soft whimpers, trickling into the savior’s ears like raindrops. The muffled cries of her son’s kidnappers hanging in the air, blending in with the crickets, with the birds, with the crash of waves against the sandy shore.

 

Then, it’s the thoughts inside her own head. Reminders of all the people she’s loved and lost. Foster parents loved and lost. Lily loved and lost. Neal loved and lost and lost again. Graham, his kiss still burning her lips, his shoelaces wrapped tight around her wrist, leaving a permanent indentation in her flesh. Will her son join the list? Will his small features fade into the blurry depths of memory, too painful for her to visit? She’s already forgetting the shape of his eyes, the hazel color. She’s already forgetting the way his hair feels when her fingers run through it. The way he smells when he hurtles his body against her own and squeezes tight.

 

Now, it’s the rainstorm.

 

Emma feels like she’s drowning in the liquid rage which ravages the island. Her silhouette is frequently highlighted by a flash of blue lightning. She stands guard at the entrance to a cave her family and Hook have sought refuge in. The pirate’s gift is locked in her grip. She tries to imagine Neal ever having wielded this sword, imagine his phantom fingers settled beneath her own.

 

Movement behind her. Emma doesn’t have to turn around to know who it is. Her energy seems to spike in odd ways, and a familiar heat spreads from her forearm when her son’s mother rests her hand there.

 

“My turn,” Regina strokes the fine hairs that stand to attention on the savior’s arms, invisible to the naked eye.

 

“I’m good for another hour or so.”

 

“You should sleep, you’ve been at it long enough.”

 

“It’s fine.” The cavern walls are illuminated with another crack of lightning. The savior’s eyes glow blue. Regina reaches up to stroke her cheek, more heat spreading from her fingertips, flowing into Emma. “Stay up with me?”

 

Magic crackles inside the sorceress’ cells. A quiet thunderstorm brews within her blood, churning lightning and worry and fierce devotion for the one she loves. Henry is alive, and Henry will be delivered back to her. She knows this with a certainty, because the alternative is unthinkable, unlivable.

 

“I’ll stay up with you,” Regina’s warm breath coasts the prominent line of her lover’s jaw. It beckons Emma to face her a little more fully. An electric blue gaze flooding her dark vision.

 

Then, they… they find themselves pressing into the jagged edges of their makeshift home. The sound of steel _clanging_ against rock. Emma’s free hands slip beneath a velvet blouse, fingers relaxed against the ridges of her lover’s spine. Regina shivers at the touch. Bits and pieces of the scattered science she’s learned through the curse skirts the edges of her mind; must be the friction, something about electrons moving faster, jumping from her skin to Emma’s, that’s all this _buzzing_ is, the anticipation building inside her body.

 

And, desperation. That’s what this is.

 

And hatred, some lingering madness… primal lust ruling what instincts she possesses derived from early man.

 

A flash of lightning. A groan of thunder. Goosebumps prickle the surface of the savior’s arms. Beneath her lashes, Regina’s staring up at her with the oddest expression she cannot decipher. The thought of asking and waiting for an answer feels exhausting. Emma just pulls her in closer. One knee sliding in between the queen’s thighs, ocean spray flying through the island and slamming against the magical barricade shimmering inside the entrance of their cavern.

 

Fingers in her hair. Golden curls wound around olive skinned knuckles. When Emma closes her eyes, there’s just another woman’s unsteady breathing and the _clap_ of thunder.

 

“ _Em - mah_ ,” The name is like a trigger, a gunshot ricocheting the labyrinth of the savior’s cranium.

 

They meet in a blind kiss. Regina melts beneath the pressure of her lover’s lips. Between flashes of lightning, knees trembling, she wraps her arms around stiff shoulders and feels them loosen with a shared sigh. There’s so much warmth to be found here, the heat kindled in the base of the queen’s tummy and exploding outward.

 

“ _Shhh_ ,” Emma’s smile trails the length of Regina’s blushing neck. “ _We don’t want to wake them._ ”

 

Black coats laid out beneath them like a picnic blanket, Emma continues undressing them just enough so that their legs can tangle together, and her mouth has unfettered access to the dusky twin peaks aching for her attention. Deeper in the cave, the rest of their party is tucked away in cramped nooks carved into rock wall. One of them stirs, brow scrunched in sleep, as the echoes of the queen’s pleasured whimpers die off slowly.

 

Emma still wonders, does Regina do this on purpose? Cry out in exaggerated ecstasy to get a rise out of her parents?

 

“ _Shhh_ ,” She coaches again, pressing her fingers a little harder into the wrists she’s pinning down against their blanket of coats. Her mess of curls spill over like silk curtains, hiding them both when she ducks down and sucks on her lover’s bottom lip, begging entrance swiftly granted to her. Her knee cap grinds against Regina’s panties, dry cotton against her skin. But after several minutes of just holding both the queen’s wrists with one hand, her other toying with one of the royal nipples, teasing tiny indentations with her nail, tracing the outline around and around, dragging down to follow the teasing curve of the fleshy swell, and the slow invasion of the savior’s tongue sinking deeper and deeper into the wet heat of her lover’s mouth… sucking lewdly on the tip of Regina’s tongue… tasting the berries they’d shared… tasting the gasping moans, every hitch of breath that begged for more…

 

The cotton’s not so dry anymore. Regina’s legs wrap around the savior’s hips and seem to demand something she can’t quite give. Still, Emma grinds down a little harder with her knee and watches her lover practically choke on needy pleasure. She feels the way something soaks through the panties and coat her knee. She feels the outline of her lover’s pussy and hears it _squelch_ with every slow rocking motion.

 

The removal of the savior’s knee prompts a protesting cry, swiftly clogging Regina’s throat when a strip of fabric is shoved aside and two fingers sink inside of her, curling inside the tight heat and stretching out.

 

“ _Ah_ ,” Emma hisses at the nails digging into her flesh, the way they drag down her back before taking purchase on her hips. Another _flash_ of lightning reveals the tortured features of her lover’s face, eyes clenched shut and teeth sunk into her bottom lip.

 

A single bead of blood. Emma catches it with her tongue, the iron causing her sensors to flare up. Their kiss is bittersweet now, Regina moaning into the blonde’s mouth, thighs trembling as two fingers circle inside her. She tastes her own blood on the savior’s tongue, she digs her nails deeper into the younger woman’s flesh.

 

The louder Regina gets, the more Emma deepens the kiss, until the savior’s throat burns with each swallowed scream.

 

When her knuckles are drenched, released from the tight press of her lover’s rhythmic clenching, Emma pulls out and sucks the digits into her mouth. “ _You taste…_ ” She smirks around her fingers at the way it already makes the woman pinned beneath her weight whine in mild embarrassment. Emma swallows the description just this once and merely enjoys the salty flavor, the sound of her sucking barely heard above the raging storm.

 

Their heat is fleeting. The moment their breath steadies they’re shivering again. Still somewhat committed to keeping watch out the cavern entrance, they remain there instead of retreating to the relative warmth deeper inside.

 

Brow arched with some amusement, Emma quietly allows the brunette to tangle their fingers together. They don’t usually hold hands. They’re back to sitting up, somewhat slumped against the sloped walls, and Regina’s gaze is fastened to the flashes of lightning which illuminate the jungle outside. Emma memorizes the soft curve of her face, notices the smudges of dirt and dark lines embedded into what had been flawless, unblemished skin a couple weeks ago.

 

The warmest part of her body is now her one hand. She’s not entirely certain Regina knows that she’s playing with it. Emma closes her eyes and tries not to make a sound, her lover’s thumb digging into the center of her palm. Her knuckles _crack_ loudly as the sorceress snaps her fingers back, testing the savior’s double jointedness. Emma forgets she’s not sleepy. The thunder sounds like the purr of an engine. The rock walls feel like leather. When she starts to slump over it’s like she’s spilling onto the backseat of her car, knees cramping up. The radio’s on, playing a station filled with the light humming of a wanting mother, and the kid’s mindless chatter plays in the back of her mind like static.


End file.
